


To Depose a King

by Nintendraw



Category: Fire Emblem: Shin Monshou no Nazo | Fire Emblem: New Mystery of the Emblem
Genre: Camus-centric, Gen, Nyna only gets a mention despite having a tag here, set prior to Episode 1 of BSFE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 11:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21098984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nintendraw/pseuds/Nintendraw
Summary: Indeed, they would sing of this day for years to come. But would they record the epic tale of a knight unseating an unjust king—or the pitiable fugue of a coward-king deposing an emperor with mere pawns? Camus banished the thought as quickly as it came. A knight’s blade was only as strong as his will; he could not afford to falter against a well-seasoned foe.





	To Depose a King

**Author's Note:**

> An old drabble that I was prompted to post again by a Tumblr ask. Part of a drastically snowballed Camus-centric fic that I have yet to finish.
> 
> Jean Ivan is my headcanon name for Nyna's father (her mother's name is Evelina). I did draw a couple quick bust pics of how they looked in their youth; see footer notes for links.

Rumors told that to face General Camus in battle was to face a demon on the warpath.

Certainly there was some element of truth to them, Camus supposed, as he wiped his blade clean on the unbloodied hem of his latest victim’s tunic. He had earned his place as a highly skilled warrior (the best, they said); and yet, rumors had a way of inflating themselves into something much worse. He only buried his weapons in the hearts of traitors or decided enemies; he was not some wanton demon to kill the women or unarmed, nor the ones who surrendered without a fight. Yet when he dismounted his horse and strode inside the castle, everyone parted before him like pebbles before a storm, as if fearing that to cast so much as a glance his way was to be murdered on the spot.

But they were not his target today, these frightened innocents of Archanea. He had but one purpose here. Only one would fall upon his blade today.

It was no easy task to find the throne room, for the holy palace was much more convoluted than the humbler one he knew in Grust. He frightened a few servants in the midst of some pillaging as he searched, and they scattered like flies at the sight of him, tall and imposing in his order’s ebon-gold, his hand ever resting on the hilt of his wicked sword. He did not bother to pick up the scraps they left behind, except to return the valuable ones beyond the reach of looters. Any moment he delayed was another moment the king could use to make his escape. There would be plenty of time to clean up when both city and palace were safely occupied.

At last he found the royal throne, but when he shoved the heavy gilded door aside, he found the king of Archanea himself waiting there. Seated—two glasses of wine at his side, even; as if he had been waiting for Camus to arrive. The realization rattled him more than he cared to admit, for he had expected to face a coward not unlike (Naga take him) his king Ludwik; but Camus shook the dire thoughts from his mind lest they tarnish his resolve.

Jean Ivan did not wait for the general to come near him before speaking. “I commend you and yours for your conduct while sacking my palace. Bloodless, when possible—Athena would approve.”

Camus knew not how the king could obtain such knowledge without leaving this room. The plan had been discussed with and executed by his Sable Knights alone, and this place had no windows facing the battlefield. But it was not a soldier’s place to question, only to obey his orders. Still, as he drew his sword, he replied: “What distinguishes a soldier from a barbarian is his ability to strike surgically. With precision. I have been tasked with bringing Archanea under Dolhrian rule. I need not paint the hills with blood as well.”

“Well said, General Camus of Grust. But of course you would know, you who hail from a kingdom polluted by them.”

(From the midst of the throne room, Camus’s brows clenched—the only sign that Lord Archanea’s comment had hit home.)

“I would toast you myself in Athena’s place, but I suspect you are not here for banter.” He raised the filled glass anyway; but when Camus still advanced, he sighed and set it down. “I had hoped to share my last drink with one known as the ablest man alive. But alas, I see it is not to be.”

“Forgive me, Lord Archanea. You know well why I cannot accept that offer.”

“So be it.” Archanea’s king rose then, his ermine cloak falling softly around his feet. Though his body was no longer so built, the confidence in his bearing recalled the proud warrior he’d once been. The glint of the sword at his hip was unmistakable. He grasped the hilt of it, and Camus’s fingers tightened around his own. “I have been waiting for this battle for a long time. May the bards sing of our fight today.”

(Indeed, they _would_ sing for years to come. But would they record the epic tale of a knight unseating an unjust king—or the pitiable fugue of a coward-king deposing an emperor with pawns? And what would his honor mean if he used it to defend an unjust cause? He banished the thought as quickly as it came. A knight’s blade was only as strong as his will; he could not afford to falter against a clearly seasoned foe. And besides, it was not just his king he sought to protect but also the people behind him—)

A flash of steel; Camus reacted instinctively with his own. Their blades collided with the horrible screech of metal on metal. Broke away, clashed again; each man testing the other’s strength. Camus was impressed that one as old as Jean Ivan could fight with the strength and agility of one ten years his junior, despite all the rumors to the contrary. A valiant ploy—but one destined to fail, for this was one fight Camus could not afford to lose.

The longer they fought, the more apparent it was how unused Jean Ivan was to this exertion. He pressed his advantage, launched into arcing slashes, battering him down with sheer strength. The king’s eyes widened as he staggered back one step. Two. He pressed his advantage.

Suddenly, the king swung. Camus leaped back, narrowly avoided getting cleaved in two from the unexpected horizontal swipe. He swore under his breath and charged back in; the king, sensing an opportunity, also charged, flinging his sword left and right to keep the general from getting close. Their blades clashed, rebounded, clashed again. Jean Ivan was visibly tiring now, but he defiantly gathered his strength one more time and lunged.

But the attack was messy. Camus neatly sidestepped the man and, as he passed by, brought his sword down on the man’s wrist. His blade caught on bone for the briefest of moments; and then the king was howling, clutching the stump of his wrist, his hand still clutching his blade half a meter away.

The general lost no time in advancing on his fallen adversary and seizing his hair.

“_For the motherland._”

A decisive strike through the neck, and King Archanea was no more. And yet, as he gathered up the head to present as proof of his victory, Camus could not help but imagine the dead king’s voice whispering, _“May the gods protect you, Nyna…”_

**Author's Note:**

> Lord Jean Ivan of Menedy: https://www.deviantart.com/nintendraw/art/FE-Lord-Archanea-digi-lines-WIP-722520251  
Lady Eveline of Archanea: https://www.deviantart.com/nintendraw/art/FE-Lady-Eveline-bust-727547692


End file.
